


Time-Tested

by vicariously kingly (pelted)



Series: In Homage to Theoxenia [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, drunk but consensual, excuse me sir thats my unhealthy coping mechanism, thancred... pls use your words, urianger makes do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25657519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelted/pseuds/vicariously%20kingly
Summary: The Tower’s size dwarfed reason: opulent ceilings carved from crystal looming hundreds of yalms above, halls that curved so grandly as to put the Sultana’s palace to shame, rooms on rooms of glowing gem floors and ancient Allagan technology...And yet, in the midst of so much splendor, Thancred’s world narrowed onto one elezen perched on a ratty, overused sofa.
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Thancred Waters
Series: In Homage to Theoxenia [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859977
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	Time-Tested

**Author's Note:**

> Side story to Katabasis, set post-festival. ;] 
> 
> For those who are here for the pwp: tl;dr; they've time traveled to ancient Amaurot and currently live in the Crystal Tower. Don't think too much about why, Thancred definitely tries not to.

The Tower’s size dwarfed reason: opulent ceilings carved from crystal looming hundreds of yalms above, halls that curved so grandly as to put the Sultana’s palace to shame, rooms on rooms of glowing gem floors and ancient Allagan technology...

And yet, in the midst of so much splendor, Thancred’s world narrowed onto one elezen perched on a ratty, overused sofa. 

To be fair, the Tower didn’t have a kind hand brushing his hair back from his face, or a gorgeous arm hooked lightly around his back. Pink tinted the elezen’s face and ear tips, the color in soft contrast to his equally soft silver hair. He arched slightly when Thancred straddled his hips, a quiet exhale escaping him as if by pleasant surprise when Thancred rocked down along a stiffening length. 

Meanwhile, the Tower didn’t have a face, or hips, or really anything that Thancred was particularly interested in on this fine celebratory night. It didn’t even supply alcohol! He’d had his last drink at the festival proper, which had been—- some time ago. Not too long, as his skin yet prickled with heat borne both from the body below him and the fruity drink lingering on his lips. Long enough that he was coming off the high, his vision remarkably steady and his mind happily narrowed in to one goal and one goal only. 

It’d taken them a bit to not only excuse themselves from the group without being too obvious, but also to find somewhere both secluded and comfortable for a tumble. Using the Amaurotine’s napping couch in their techy lab wasn’t ideal. So late at night, it ran the lowest risk of Scion or Amaurotine busting in. Urianger had pointed out the logic; Thancred just hoped none of the Amaurotines had used this sofa for a similar purpose.

Urianger swept his bangs behind an ear, then lingered, his palm light upon Thancred’s cheek. On half-remembered reflex from many a night spent many a year ago in similar positions, Thancred tilted his head to press a kiss upon the delicate underside of Urianger’s wrist.

By the hitch in breath he heard, he knew: hah! He might’ve been getting old and it might’ve been a while, but he still had it. 

“Come hither,” Urianger demanded, his arm tightening around Thancred’s back to draw him closer.

There was no need to ask twice. Thancred hid his smile against Urianger’s mouth as he laid down and pressed himself chest against absurdly long and narrow chest, his arms loose over Urianger’s shoulders. He discovered a great deal of silver hair to play with upon settling, and immediately tangled his fingers in the fine locks to do just so. 

Hands roved across his back, the patterns idle and wandering. He was down to his undershirt and trousers, minus the plating, straps and boots; Urianger had his robe on, but significantly less jewelry, and definitely not his wide golden necklace. All discarded clothing lay somewhere on the floor, to be accounted for in the far-away morning light. 

To Thancred’s lazy pleasure, there ensued much kissing.

Light at first. A peck here, a peck there. They’d all but necked once they’d escaped the others' eyesight, though Urianger insisted on a higher degree of privacy before they proceeded any further. Even inebriated and riled, Thancred didn’t wish Ryne to see an ilm of what he hoped to do to Urianger, and so he’d agreed. Eventually — through frequent stops largely due to Thancred’s inability to keep his hands off what he could reach while they walked — they found the makeshift lab and its normal enough sofa, and, well, from there, bets were off.

Hands tugged up his undershirt just enough for him to be aware of a new chill. Then fingers stroked just under its hem, dragging light and lithe along the jut of his hip and up the dip of his spine. A shiver followed their movements, and he squirmed— godsdamn squirmed, like some overexcited youth! Just how long had it been?! 

Matters were not helped when Urianger chuckled against his cheek, the line of his mouth an unmistakeable smile. 

In retaliation, Thancred re-orientated their faces, snagged Urianger’s bottom lip between his teeth, and gave it a gentle suck. Then a stronger one, as nails scraped lightly along his back. Satisfaction arrived in full once Urianger tilted his head to deepen the kiss, and he obliged for a moment only before he withdrew to bury his head into the join between neck and shoulder. He licked a stripe up and up until he nosed at the soft spot behind one long ear, mouthing gently at the sensitive skin. Urianger shuddered beneath him, his next exhale louder than before; and now it was his turn to squirm, as his hands tightened compulsively around Thancred’s hips. 

Ah, hips. A grand invention. Thancred put his to use, rolling them once, twice, thrice, and finding it very satisfying indeed to increase his weight upon every rock. Braced on his forearms, weight thrown back — it was a simple matter, with happy and heady payoff. 

Before long, Urianger rose to meet him. He tipped his head to the side as well, allowing Thancred easier access to his neck. As he had a lot of ground for Thancred to cover, he appreciated it. 

What he didn’t appreciate, as their rocking grew closer to grinding, their breathes staccatos matching their increasing rhythm: Urianger, damned gentleman he was, kept his hands on the hipbone. 

Having suffered this realization and impatience with the idea of waiting for Urainger to wise up as time passed and he decidedly did not, Thancred eventually pressed his forehead to the sweaty shoulder beneath him and grit out, “Come on. It’s fine. Actually, I’d very much like you to.”

“To...?” 

Oh, Gods. He sounded genuinely baffled.

Also horrendously aroused, but by the heat pressing insistently against Thancred’s ass, that hadn't been in question. 

Rather than find the words, Thancred reached back, took one of Urianger’s hands, and slid it lower and to his front. The move made Urianger tighten his grip around his new handhold, which was great. It also forced Thancred to sit up. While he was up and looking down at the wondrous sight he had below him, he realized his trousers were far too tight and would do well with a loosening. 

Urianger evidently agreed, as his blown-black eyes were stuck below Thancred’s belt line the second Thancred moved his hand there. When he started fumbling with his belt, button and zipper, Urianger took the time to breathe and stare and, finally, help him out.

And then: help him _out._

His trousers had been far, far too tight. He hissed when they worked him out, the air cold but Urianger’s gaze and hands hot beyond belief. Not to waste time, he didn’t get up to fully take off his trousers, though he spared a stray thought of regret as the material kept him from spreading his legs as wide as he’d have liked. And so he made do with tilting himself back, one hand braced on Urianger’s thigh and one hand wrapped around his base, giving himself a tight squeeze to ward off anything premature. 

Urianger’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. Thancred, impulse rising sharp from near forgotten depths, gave him a half-smirk. 

“It would be a,” Urianger began, and stopped, his eyes flicking between Thancred’s mouth and his dick, “boon indeed if thee would,” and then stopped again, as Thancred cupped his hand over Urianger’s and over his shaft, their fingers interlacing nearly, “allow me to—“

“Fuck me?” Thancred asked, and tilted his chin up, made his body long and tall, his eyes hooded. “I’d hoped you would ask. I’ve been waiting all night.”

He probably looked a mess, flushed and just a bit desperate, a bit wanting, a bit too much wanting because this was Urianger and outside was Amaurot and Lahabrea and a whole host of dangers inside and out, and he’d like to focus most on the Urianger part of this situation, right now and right forever. 

He hoped he looked a mess. 

“I haven’t anything to aid in that endeavor,” Urianger murmured, tightening his grip around Thancred’s dick and settling a fine, if slow, rhythm.

“Next time.” Was that a promise? It would be if it could be. By how Urianger’s mouth parted and his eyes widened, Thancred wanted it to be. “We’ll find somewhere with a little more atmosphere. A proper bed, maybe; more time, too, for just us. All night, all morning— whatever you like.”

Thancred let his eyes close and his head fall fully back. The residual alcohol made him warm all over in an incredibly pleasant way; the hand, palm far smoother than his own, provided just enough friction to take the edge off the fire in his veins, the dry drag a rough pleasure.

It would be nice to divulge them entirely of their clothing. For Urianger to work him open, though not enough to completely remove the burn on his first push in. He could straddle Urianger as they were now, or he could lay himself down on the couch, his legs up over his shoulders— or they could abandon the sofa altogether and he could be on his hands and knees on the floor, his head bent and back bowed, Urianger a strong and present weight on him, in him, hand on his nape holding him down. He would beg for release, unsure if he would be granted it.

For a moment, there was nothing in the air but their rough breathing. Each lost in their own thoughts, their own worlds.

“Thancred?”

“Mm?”

“Look at me.” 

Confusion prickled at the back of Thancred’s mind, but he did. Opening his eyes, he looked down.

Urianger paused his hand. Thancred resolutely did not squirm, though it was a near thing.

“Prithee,” Urianger said, his voice terribly soft and his gaze even more so where it met Thancred’s, “come hither.” 

Confusion persisting, Thancred hesitated a moment longer before complying. 

He folded forward into Urianger’s chest, his arms again looping over his shoulders. This time, he kept his hands from tangling in any hair.

“What?” He asked when Urianger pulled his hand from between them and patted his right hip. 

“Turn over.”

“Why for?”

“Why not?”

That was a poor come back, but his mind remained so full of happy, midst-of-sex cotton, he did so. It was a bit awkward. He worried vaguely about crushing Urianger, or putting too much weight on his stomach or diaphragm.

If he caused discomfort, Urianger didn’t say. Instead, he let Thancred settle and then asked, voice a warm murmur directly next to Thancred’s ear, “I would enjoy thy hands upon my hair, if thee desires,” and Thancred found himself desiring quite a bit.

He obliged easily, fingers again tangling in his locks. Head tipped back between shoulder and throat, feet planted firmly on either side of his legs, Thancred arched in a long stretch that had to hit just right. Yet, Urianger did not grab or grind; instead, both of his hands returned to Thancred’s cock, and set to work.

With his hands, yes: slower than before, fingertips gliding along the underside of his shaft and flicking teasingly at the crown. A tighter grip here, a light squeeze there. Another slow drag up, which Thancred soon found himself canting his hips to follow. No matter his unspoken demand, Urianger refused to speed up. The closest he got was when he apparently found Thancred’s state of dress to be too restricting, and pushed his pants halfway down his thighs-- only to leave them there, which in fact just left _Thancred_ quite restricted, as his legs were effectively bound flat. 

He had nice hands. They were as long as the rest of him, but soft and fine-boned. An academic’s hands. In other words: clever.

As it turned out, he had clever words to match.

He told Thancred how good he looked. A standard starter. Thancred would rather he not be a tease.

He told Thancred how he felt in hand. A bit better.

He told Thancred how he’d like him in the future. A proper bed, with proper walls and candles-- the sap!-- and _time_ , as if he weren’t already taking an eternity to speed things up. But then he continued: he wanted time, yes; time to lay him down and appreciate his every ilm; to bind him properly and leave him wanting; to blind him with the softest silk and force him to appreciate his body for what pleasure it could offer, and everything his heart desired besides--

Urianger thumbed absently over the top of him as he spoke, his fingers glistening with slick. 

In a valiant attempt not to gasp too embarrassingly much, Thancred’s breath stuttered and stuck. Despite his efforts and entirely due to Urianger’s, his chest heaved.

 _Yes, yes,_ that all sounded lovely. Perfect, in fact. Ruin him; he could take it. He wanted to take it. 

Thancred gasped as much into Urianger’s neck, his eyes squeezed shut and everything about him on fire, because-- because-

 _Next time,_ Urianger murmured into his hair, voice disgustingly gentle and adoring, one hand brushing up Thancred’s front to scratch lightly at the heated skin over his pounding heart, _next time,_ and that was just it.

Hands tightening compulsively in Urianger’s hair, Thancred stopped chasing his teasing touch and started grinding down onto him in earnest. He wanted to spread his legs, to leverage himself, but found them immobile; and the frustration in futility there built, deliciously so, as he had no choice but to give himself over to Urianger’s mercy. 

Let him fall-- he was _so close._

Little had he accounted for the fact that Urianger was not one for mercy or pity. When Urianger looped his fingers around the base of Thancred and squeezed _tight_ , reeling him harshly back from the edge, Thancred near cursed his name, his mother, and his mother’s mother.

“Twelve damn you,” Thancred hissed into his neck, “what do you _want,_ ” and kissed that neck, nipped it with teeth, strained himself and caught an earlobe, body twisted and writhing.

For his troubles and woes, he received a breathy chuckle. Taking a handful of silver hair and giving it a light tug, Thancred changed his nipping to a pointed bite.

 _That_ just got him a pleased hum and light roll of the hips, but no release on the pressure at the base of him. So far from and yet so close to what he really wanted. 

“They’ve a word for people like you,” he accused, voice unintentional husky, “it’s tease. An absolute tease.”

“Art thee truly one to talk?” Urianger retorted, which... fair.

He squirmed. Rocked, to the extent his limited movement allowed. Urianger obliged him one firm stroke, but then returned to his grip at his base.

Tease wasn’t a strong enough label. He was an absolute ass.

\-- Then, Thancred got a pretty bright idea.

He tried a, “Please?”

Urianger hummed consideringly. “Yes?”

Ah.

So that was what he wanted.

For the average bedmate, Thancred would laugh them off but play along without much thought. 

For Urianger, he hesitated. It felt more real with him. It felt vulnerable.

His entire pose struck him then as vulnerable: he was exposed, stretched and pinned in a manner as effective as any bind. Desire sat heavy in his belly, and he had very little leverage to get a leg up, metaphorically or physically, on Urianger. 

And yet. 

The skin below Urianger’s ear was thin and soft. When Thancred turned his head and nosed again at it, Urianger shivered. At a sloppy kiss to the corner of his jaw, Urianger dropped his hand to Thancred’s hip and dug in blunt nails. After Thancred again squirmed, breath yet erratic, Urianger responded by pressing his own kiss to the side of Thancred’s head. As far as being vulnerable went, Thancred wasn’t alone. 

And so Thancred whispered, “Please,” sincerely, the words scraped from his chest, his throat abruptly desert-dry and tight, “let me. I want you to, to--”

“To what?” Urianger encouraged, voice back to a low murmur.

“-- Touch me. Let me come. Please.”

As far as begging went, it wasn’t even close to adequate.

For Urianger, it was enough. 

The arm around Thancred’s chest shifted into a proper hold, and held him tight. His other hand ceased its grip and though its ministrations started slow, the pace rapidly increased. He worked Thancred with intent, hard and fast.

Thancred bit his lip, planted his hands above Urianger’s head to better leverage himself into a proper arc, and rode him out.

He found himself hissing encouragement and repeating _yes, please, like that, please,_ which eventually stuttered out into a low moan and breathless gasping as he again found his edge and, this time, tumbled right over it. Things got a bit blurry around then, his thoughts scattered and mind blissfully blank.

Urianger stroked him through it, until his touch near burned; and then, he at last shoved his own trousers low and parted his robe, turning them both on their sides to better chase his own release. While he did, Thancred stroked his hand up and down his side, murmuring senseless encouragement. In the shuffle, he finally shucked off the rest of his pants, to better hook a foot around the back of Urianger’s calf and give him something tighter to fuck into. 

When Urianger reached his end, he smothered sweet, breathy noises into Thancred’s hair. Thancred kept his hand on his hip, holding him as tight as he could.

They made quite a mess of the couch. They’d definitely need to clean up before the Amaurotines returned. They made a limited effort to clean themselves up, mostly with their own clothing (which would also _definitely_ need to be cleaned before they could look the other Scions in the eye again), but there wasn’t much to be done without water or rags.

That was all a problem for daylight. For Urianger, it turned out, became an octopus after he was spent, an arm and leg both affectionately left around and over Thancred. His chest made for a lovely if warm backrest, while his long hair managed to mostly stay out of Thancred’s mouth and eyes. 

All in all, moving him seemed a task too great for even a giant talos, especially as Thancred felt astoundingly comfortable where he was. And so: he stayed, his thoughts at last quiet, idly tracing nonsensical patterns on Urianger’s bare hip as they both drifted toward sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me at [twitter](https://twitter.com/peltyfluff) if you like. :D


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